/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>Fresh from my shower, I stand in front of the mirror complaining to my/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>husband that my breasts are too small. Instead of characteristically/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>telling me it's not so, he uncharacteristically comes up with a/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>suggestion.

/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>"If you want your breasts to grow, then every day take a piece of toilet/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>paper and rub it between them for a few seconds".

/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>Willing to try anything, I fetch a piece of toilet paper and stand in/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>front of the mirror, rubbing it between my breasts. "How long will this/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>take?" I asked.

/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>"They will grow larger over a period of years," my husband replies.

/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>I stopped. "Do you really think rubbing a piece of toilet paper between/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>my breasts every day will make my breasts larger over the years?"

/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>Without missing a beat he says "Worked for your arse didn't it?"

/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>He's still alive and with a great deal of therapy, he may even walk/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>again 0000,0000,8080>,/color> although he will probably continue to take his meals through a/bigger>/bigger>/fontfamily> Times New Roman>straw.

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